Scout Finds a Butterfly
by Maggot Magnet
Summary: This is a wonderous oneshot about how Scout met his insect pal, Jimbob.


A poetic hillside rested in grassy mounds behind the battlefield like a moss-smelling sun-baked blanket, and it just so happens that a certainly unfortunate bruised Scout had been rocket-bounced by a burly American to explode down to the dewy field at that perfect moment.

After a brief clunk against the green, the Bostonian opened his eyes against the sun and proceeded to soak his retina in the rare pleasure.

Scout had seen it.

He saw it flutter and wave before his eyes, graceful as a gazelle and dashing in its simplistic but intricate beauty. Scout, head raised as he sprawled on the floor with his baseball bat by his side, stared with mouth agape as the magnificent insect wavered in the distant warm breeze.

A motherfucking butterfly.

Scout _had_ to fucking catch it.

It was his goal in life to catch that fucking butterfly.

Scout bounced up onto the toes of his soccer sneakers, took a running leap after the butterfly, and skidded to a stop just as the petite monarch sat upon a dandelion. "Yeah, you go an' _sit_ on that freakin' flower, ya dumb _fag_," Scout guffawed with a manly grimace, unknowingly mistaking the weed for a flower in his horticultural ignorance. He squinted at his miniscule prey as menacingly as the young boy could have possibly mustered, although the insect most likely could not see him. He ripped his hat off of his head with one hand and subconsciously smoothed down his greasy hat-hair with the other, insinuating a careful front tuft á la a young Peter O'Toole. Scout knelt beside the orange monarch slowly and quietly without a single word, this being a difficult task due to his compulsive loud-spoken bratty Bostonian self. He raised his black baseball cap with both hands, holding it high above the fluttering target so it would cast a dark, eerie shadow on the blades of grass surrounding it. An insult inadvertently flew out of his scowl. "I'm gonna trap your guy's skinny shrimp ass undah my lucky hat, you jus' wait." Scout's eyes grew wide as his loud voice caught him off-guard. His eyes darted back to the floor to ascertain himself that his main goal was still there.

The butterfly paid him no mind.

Scout gulped, holding his voice from whooping and screaming various taunts at his enemies as he usually does. This time, it would actually benefit him to be quiet, so Scout bit his lip and exhaled quickly through his nose. He snorted accidentally.

The butterfly did not budge.

It was a _perfect_ moment to catch it. His hands shook at the suspense. Mind beginning to count down from five, the hat stool as eerily still as the gauze-enshrouded hands would allow.

Three.

The butterfly flickered its kaleidoscopic ailerons as a tame warning, threatening to flap its wings and fly away.

Two.

One.

A flash of black fabric hurtled through the air and was pressed against the grass. Following the hasty jam-packed flash of a second, the insect was encased in the inevitable trap of the dandruff-powdered cave. At first, Scout was overrun with confusion – had he really just caught a butterfly?

Indeed so, it seemed. The butterfly had been right there, hadn't it? And it thus is now under his hat. This proves that, in fact, Scout had trapped the insect. With greatly disbelieving enthusiasm, Scout beamed nastily and shouted, "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I got me a fuckin' BUTTERFLY!" A spring to his feet brought him to the top of the world. "Yeah, what NOW? What_ NOW?_" Tireless moments of a repetitive shameless victory dance, set to the cadence of Scout's booming song, followed as grass was destroyed by the hand-me-down hastily-stomping soccer cleats. "They_ jea-_lous, they _hat-_in', 'cause I _got_ me a BUTTERFLY! Bitches _hatin'!_ Bitches _hatin'!_"

The apparent triumph over the insect ceased as Scout wondered what to do next. So, that was that, he had trapped a butterfly. As he had stated previously in his mediocre excuse for an anthem; 'What NOW?' indeed. Scout huffed with confusion, placing one hand on his waist and leaving the other one to rub his chin in an conspicuously faux-wise manner.

The hat nestled there within the blades of grass, earpiece beginning to become raided with ants.

A few elongated moments of thought brought Scout to a conclusion he deemed genius. Snapping his finger with a dramatic "A-ha!", he once again cornered the hat and the majestic creature that flitted about under it. "Calm down, lil' guy! I ain't gonna hurt ya, promise! Or kill ya. Same thing.

"I got a better plan for ya!" Scout began with a grin as he slid his hand carefully under the hat, making sure his new pet wouldn't escape. "I'm gonna take you to my sleepin' chamber thing! Yer gonna live there wit' me!"

Scout beamed as he rose up from the grassy plain a final time and pressed the hat to his palm carefully as to not hurt his insect buddy. "We're gonna have so much goddamn _fun, _pally!" He skipped happily away to their sleeping quarters, forgetting his bat on the grass, choosing his path so that he could safely get to the private estates that were nestled safely behind the battlefield. "I'm callin' _you_...hm..." He pondered the thought as the metal door unlatched with a squeak and automatically rolled open to let him into the sleeping quarters. Scout paused. "What's a good name? Lemme see..."

He shut his eyes tight, concentrating on good names for new best friends.

Pete? Charlie? Jack?

Jim? Bob?

Jimbob?

"Jimbob! Yeah! That's it! Jimbob! I like dat name!" Scout threw his eyes open and grinned to the hat as if he were checking for the butterfly's approval. "I said Hey! What's goin' on, Jimbob?"

Receiving no response, he continued with relish as he scampered up the stairs to his own bedroom. "Yo, I should totes get Snipes t' lend me a empty jar or somethin' so I can make a nice home for you an' stuff! One dat don't smell like piss though. I'll wash it or something. An' then we're gonna go fishin', an' then we're gonna draw pic'chers, an' then we're gonna watch Psycho, an' then we're gonna play baseball, an' you gonna be my best friend _forevah_!" He set down his hat, Jimbob and all, onto the table by his bed. "Forevah an'_ evah! _Ain't that right, Bob-O?"

Spy _knew_ the butterfly mask was a stupid idea.


End file.
